Lower Buckeye, as it were

smog from the prison bus is suffocating
at least
i guess
i'm not a passenger as it crawls
away with one last hiss
and i'm stranded again
just empty top papers on the ground
and this damn fly
and that crushed
styrofoam fast fish conveniently located
a simple fillet
just for me
and just a little spittle of broken glass
so as to set the scene proper

at least there is a tree lined ditch parallel
to the super high voltage lines
like an infinite repetition of two dimensional jet planes
hung from wires

just the tips
of the city can be seen through the strangely cold smog
like a far off surrealist dream probably a good two days walk from here
but why waste the energy for that kind of a trek
the emptiness can be felt even out this far almost
as if it has no soul
no core being
just a pile of stones stacked upon a pile of gold
or maybe a pile of plastic that wishes it was gold

fire hydrant
with nothing to quench except
perhaps
that tuft of dead weeds surrounding it
maybe someone will torch the lone political sign
sigh